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Observations on Human Connection & Contribution

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Feeling: Observations related to feelings

#108: The emotional dust of creation

We don’t create things all at once, fully formed. Whether it’s an organization, a community, a tiny human or ourselves, creation takes time and the build is always unexpected. That’s a big reason why we subconsciously hold back from creating anything new: it feels risky to invest emotion and effort and not even have the guarantee that this thing we want will actually happen, or happen the way we want it to.

If we make a plan before starting (which is always a good idea), it’ll orient us in the right direction and help take suitable steps, but it likely won’t reflect the nuanced terrain we’ll actually walk. That’s because neither the terrain nor our creation remains static. Both respond to our actions and the events in our larger environment. Similarly, we ourselves respond and change; what we thought last week or last month will shift a bit when we engage in the work. Finally, we never build anything alone. Ever. There are others right next to us co-creating and going through the same push and pull of change and creation. So we’re changing, our creation is changing, our co-creators are changing and the environment is changing. This happens simultaneously and repeatedly. This dynamic is called emergence, and it asks for emotional flexibility. 

The work of creating something new is less like driving a self-driving Tesla on a traffic-free highway, and more like walking a dusty backroad full of brambles alongside others. It’s never a cool and collected experience of just sitting back and arriving. We all get scratched, stumble, bump into each other and kick up dust as we walk.

To make matters harder, we regularly pass through invisible gates that change the scenery and the terrain. What we did before needs to be adjusted in unexpected ways. If we were too absorbed in the work of creating, we may not even realize that we passed a gate. That’s when the emotional dust peaks―we all scramble to make sense of the new terrain, run furiously into the brambles and each other, kick up more dust, and make it harder to see things clearly. 

Knowing this, what if:

  • In addition to drawing maps, we prepare for that dusty and brambly trail with unseen gates.
  • Instead of a heroic solo journey, we note others who walk besides us.
  • Our commitment isn’t to one specific outcome but to staying on the dusty path. We develop resilience, integrity, and might I add―joy, so none of us opt-out in favor of the cushy Tesla path.
  • We invest time in creating trust: holding a hand, mending a wound, or offering a sip of water on this twisty path.
  • Most importantly, we create the capacity to be ok with emotional dust as we blind each other with it.

“The mighty oak was once an acorn that stood its ground.”― English Proverb, Author Unknown 

It may not happen.
If it happens, it wont happen the way you imagined.
If it happens, it’ll be its own thing: emergent and separate from you, uncontrollable by anyone.
Bringing it to life will dent you and others in unseen places.

So, why do it?
Because you came with these fertile seeds.
And if you hold back, first the seeds will wither…then you.
― A little ditty, by Suparna

#107: Solid jumping-off points and soft landings

I have a window above my bed that my cat, Fern, likes to sit at. This window is designed for privacy so it sits high; half of it is above my bed and the rest above my nightstand. Fern uses the nightstand to climb up and my bed to come down. If I’m sitting on my bed and in her way, she’ll meow to get me to move over so she can land on the bed. Only recently did I really pay attention to this dynamic where she uses the solid nightstand to jump up several feet and the soft bed to land.

I think all living organisms instinctively prefer this approach, both physically and emotionally. We don’t take risks or make big moves until we have a source of stability to support us. After we’ve taken the leap and done this big or uncomfortable thing we wanted to do―the hard job, the birth, the exam, the race, or something else―we hope to land back in a place of softness, ease, comfort and nurturing.

I’m also just starting to realize that soft landings are what transform into solid jumping off points for subsequent leaps. That ease and stability (known as sukha and sthira in yogic philosophy) are not two separate things but an infinity loop where one transforms into another in an endless cycle. Wisdom traditions also point us to these opposing, interdependent and inseparable qualities that help us create: rest and activity, yin and yang, feminine and masculine, receiving and giving.

Well-being occurs when there is a balance between these opposing forces because we can have too much of one thing. Weirdly, by over indexing on one side we deplete our capacity to do more of it. Too much action and not enough rest means burnout which leads to stunted future action. Too much rest and not enough action means lethargy, and resting more just depletes us further. Our goal is a dynamic balance that we constantly adjust to remain roughly at our center.

Historically, I put a lot of effort on the “jumping off”, or masculine side of this equation; hoping that more action would create stability for my next action. I created very few soft landings and often felt compelled to jump harder, only hurting myself in the process.

“Among the half dozen or so things for which a man of honor should be prepared, if necessary, to die, the right to play, the right to frivolity, is not the least.”― W. H. Auden, British-American Poet

#98: The loves of our life (India Diaries)

You might have heard this proclamation that “so and so is the love of my life”. These statements are often reserved for romantic love and sometimes extended to cover children.

I wonder though if this language limits the full expression of our love. Why do we have to limit to one person or one type of love? Who is to say that the bond one shares with a sibling or cousin (often our first potential friends) is any less than bonds made later in life. A best friend can be the most nurturing relationship we’ve ever had. Ties with parents and grandparents can grow into friendship and delightful affinity. We’re blessed with many different types of loves, all rich in their own ways. Why the compulsion to rank and reduce through comparison?  

A fulfilling life is one with many loves. I just spent three months with several loves of my life and I’m better for it.

“What was said to the rose that made it open was said
to me here in my chest.
What was told the cypress that made it strong
and straight, what was
whispered the jasmine so it is what it is, whatever made
sugarcane sweet…”
― Jalal al-Din Rumi, 13th century Persian poet

#96: Anatomy of micro interactions

I needed customer service from several companies over the last few weeks and had two contrasting experiences. This is an attempt to deconstruct that contrast.

My first interaction was through online chat. I got assigned to an agent named Oliver, who was not only helpful but had an effervescence that leapt across the chat. He gave me a link that I clicked through which, for some reason, disconnected our chat. I had all the information I needed at this point and the link was just extra. But instead of closing out the transaction mentally and moving on with my day, I felt the incompleteness of our interaction. Oliver had helped me but I didn’t get the chance to thank him.

The next day I interacted with Jeff, from another company. This time we were on the phone. It was clear early on that Jeff couldn’t help me because of his company’s policies. But what caught my attention was my rising internal irritation with Jeff. Yes he couldn’t do anything, and we’ve all been in such situations, but what stressed me was his incessant and pause-less talking and limited listening. He seemed to be repeating a talk track and clearly wasn’t skilled at handling customers yet. Part of me felt sorry for him but his talking at me made me want to shush him. I had to interrupt him several times to clarify my request and even after hearing me, he didn’t respond, he parroted the talk track. I desperately wanted to get off the phone and was amazed at the strength of my reaction.

The two interactions were only a day apart but my experience of myself was as different as night and day. I was relaxed and joyful in the first and had a knot in my stomach after the second. Below is that attempt at deconstruction that I mentioned.

In 2021, I arrived at an important conclusion about human connection through my research: The relational “table” is set before we even arrive for an interaction with others. Environmental and internal influences have a massive impact on how we relate to others and they can worsen the relational barriers that already exist.

We can see from the exchange above how some aspects of this table were set. My needs were at odds with the needs of the second company, but I also came to the interaction depleted in every way. Then, I got randomly matched with someone who didn’t listen at all. 50% of the table was set before the interaction and the remaining came into stressful existence during. It’s similar to how we’re born with certain genes but they trigger only in response to specific environmental stimuli.

Our lives are made up of endless micro interactions, where we’re not focused on creating a thoughtful relational space. Yet, we train ourselves and each other through precisely these low-stakes micro interactions…every interaction wiring and rewiring our neural pathways towards empathy and listening or distance and annoyance.

“Sometimes we’re responsible for things not because they’re our fault, but because we’re the only ones who can change them.” ― Lisa Feldman Barrett, psychologist and neuroscientist. From the book “How emotions are made”.

#85: Everyday reminders of belonging

When we think of belonging, we often think of a place, people, or culture that makes us feel welcome. We crave kinship and emotionally available humans. The implied focal point is usually the self and we gauge how another may create a sense of affinity in us. If we flip the coin though, we’ll see that the other side of this equation is us. These humans that we crave belonging from crave all of the same things back. If belonging has been a consistent desire across cultures and time, and everyone desperately craves it, what gets in the way?

Our modern lives reinforce a few recurrent themes:

  • We don’t decipher the need: Belonging was easier to achieve when we lived in close-knit collectives and became intertwined with others across generations through biological likeness and cultural shorthands. In modernity, we increasingly bump up against those with different cultural shorthands from us. We can’t always accurately decipher another’s emotional rhythm and don’t realize when we’re drawing inaccurate assumptions and conclusions, often in haste.
  • We don’t overlap enough in terms of time: Connection can happen quickly, belonging takes time. True belonging, the one where our roots go deep into the communal substrate, needs time. A few interactions are great but consistent interactions over a long period are what informs us that we aren’t just fair-weather companions. Belonging then, is a sense of affinity that is derived over a period of time through our seemingly small interactions with others. We now flit around more easily from geography to geography, job to job, relationship to relationship, and context to context. No one context gets enough of our attention unless we intentionally make it so.
  • The relational sheen wears off up close: The more we are with another human, the more sides of them we’ll see. There is more opportunity to witness messiness and sticking points. Every real relationship goes through moments of stress followed by the potential for shared sense-making. Belonging gets unlocked when we show up after these stressful moments for imperfect practice with a committed other. This implies two things: mutuality and showing up despite feeling inadequate. But if after these moments of stress, we turn to the endless online shelf of humans where the next shiny person awaits, we’ll keep repeating loops of shiny discovery followed by heartache without ever learning how to be in relationship.

In our modern context, everything―except the desire for belonging―has changed. We don’t have overlapping histories, biology, norms and time. We are surrounded by countless potential sources of belonging but they come with bodies, identities, mindsets and experiences unlike ours and with time as limited as ours. We don’t always depend on the same set of people and contexts for both survival and thriving. We rarely get to know all of another, often seeing them in a specific context which is reduced and distributed. We hardly get to see the integrated whole of each other, even when we’re emotionally close. Finally, we encounter a lot more people which cultivates the behavior of “infinite-swipe”. If not this, then there’s always another and then another.

The repeatable outcome is that it’s easier to surf the surface of humanity without dropping anchor. Easier to accumulate judgments and faulty stories about others. Easier to hurt each other and move on without realizing that, in the process, we changed ourselves for the worse. Easier to feel compelled to guard ourselves, and easier for everyone to end up guarding themselves to the brink of isolation.

But tuning back into belonging isn’t overly difficult work, it’s just uncomfortable at times. It requires everyday attentiveness and responsibility. It’s a psychological shift to reorient our focus from short-term material accumulation to the humans in front of us. To bypass the inclination to compare, acquire, and dominate. To remembering that every single thing we get to do, dream about, and achieve is enabled by humans we know and those we’ll never know.

We have rich ancestral wisdom to help us here. While modernity has added layers of complexity, forgetting our connectedness is not a new problem. Our ancestors too felt the need to remember. For instance, versions of the golden rule―treat others as you want to be treated―appear across all cultures. Some additional examples:

  • The African philosophy of Ubuntu is summarized as “I am because you are”.
  • The Zulu greeting Sawubona means “I see you” and it’s common response Shiboka means “I exist for you”. They remind us to recognize each other’s worth and dignity.
  • The same Indian greeting Namaste is used while bowing to the divine and greeting other humans.
  • Ojigi, the Japanese greeting, is a physical bow and a signal of respect, gratitude or apology in social and religious situations.

I’m certain we have timeless wisdom in every culture to remind us of our interconnectedness. These greetings, rituals and philosophies aren’t antiquated. They are psychological reminders and everyday shorthands to break the circuit of self-absorption, fear and disconnection. They help us turn to each other as lovingly and fully as we want to be turned to, to accompany each other as we want to be accompanied.

“There are two ways of spreading light: to be the candle or the mirror that reflects it.”― Edith Wharton, writer and designer